Riders of Fire Box Set Read online

  Praise for the Riders of Fire series

  Ezaara & Dragon Hero—Storylines NZ Notable Book Awards 2019

  Ezaara & Dragon Hero—Quarter Finalists, Epic Fantasy Fanatics 2019 Readers’ Choice Awards

  “A great fantasy read.”

  Dean O’Gorman, actor, Fili the dwarf in The Hobbit

  “Played like a movie in my mind. Mueller is the kind of writer that engages all 5 senses.”

  “An explosive series. Nail-biting, fast paced and taut with suspense.”

  “A lot of heart and a lot of action.”

  “New stories in same genre as Anne MacCaffrey's Pern books. About time someone took up the torch.”

  “I may have stumbled upon another favorite series here. I'm eagerly waiting to dive into the next adventure of the Riders of Fire!”

  “A spellbinding story from a powerful and equally promising new voice in epic fantasy.”

  “A page turner that is literally impossible to put down.”

  Connect with the author

  EileenMuellerAuthor.com

  Website, newsletter and free books, including Bronze Dragon and Silver Dragon, Riders of Fire prequel novelettes:

  EileenMuellerAuthor.com/readers-free-books/

  Facebook:

  Join Eileen’s Facebook Reader Group

  Follow Eileen on BookBub

  Ezaara, Dragon Hero and Dragon Rift and the Riders of Fire series are works of fiction. All characters, events and locations in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to persons or dragons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No dragons were harmed in the making of this book, although there may have been a few injuries to tharuks.

  This book is copyright. No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for short excerpts for reviews, in fair use, as permitted under the Copyright Act. Dragons’ Realm, the Riders of Fire world, and its characters are copyright.

  Ezaara, Dragon Hero, Dragon Rift, Riders of Fire © 2018-2019 Eileen Mueller

  Typesetting © Phantom Feather Press, 2020, American English

  Cover Art by Christian Bentulan © Phantom Feather Press, 2018-2020

  Dragons’ Realm Map by Ava Fairhall © Phantom Feather Press, 2018

  Phantom Feather Press Logo by Geoff Popham, © Phantom Feather Press, 2014

  Phantom Feather Press

  29 Laura Ave, Brooklyn, Wellington 6021, New Zealand

  [email protected]

  www.phantomfeatherpress.wordpress.com

  Magic, every time you turn the page.

  Dedication

  For my readers all over the world.

  You are the wind beneath my wings.

  Riders of Fire Books 1-3

  Table of Contents

  Ezaara — Riders of Fire Book 1

  Map of Dragons’ Realm

  Lush Valley

  Western Pass

  Dragons’ Hold

  Misgivings

  Dragon Flight

  Fishing

  Queen’s Rider

  Prophecy

  Knife’s Edge

  Deadline

  A Testing Time

  Trickery and Stunts

  Tharuk Attack

  Healing

  Rider of Fire

  Test of the Sword

  Suspicions

  Betrayal

  Secret Plans

  Healing Calls

  The Wastelands

  Zaarusha

  Silent Assassins

  Imprisoned

  A Link Reforged

  Escape

  Naobia

  Dark Secrets

  Deadly Intent

  Tooth and Talon

  Shari

  Traitors

  River of Sathir

  Dragon Hero — Riders of Fire Book 2

  Prologue - Eighteen Years Ago

  Lush Valley

  Death Valley

  Scorned

  Through Fog

  Western Settlement

  Trapped

  Captive

  Last Stop

  Bitter Truth

  Hunted

  Tharuk Attack

  Turning Point

  A Narrow Escape

  Storm Brewing

  Snowed In

  Star Clearing

  Haven

  A Nasty Surprise

  Weathering the Storm

  Soldiering On

  Insight

  Change of Plans

  On Fire

  Slipping Away

  A Wing Down

  A Rude Awakening

  Dragons’ Hold

  A Risky Approach

  Commander Zens

  The Creature’s Ploy

  Life in Death Valley

  Piaua’s Promise

  A Terrible Discovery

  Hope Awakened

  Ezaara

  Revelation

  Tharuk Crackdown

  Closing In

  Reunion

  Giant John

  A New Path

  Dragon Rift — Riders of Fire Book 3

  Six Weeks Earlier

  Dragons’ Hold

  War Council

  Prank Gone Wrong

  Wizardry

  Snake-tongue

  Erob’s Rescue

  Death Valley

  Discoveries

  Stuck

  Surprises

  Return

  Strangleton

  Gossip

  Dragons

  Mage Gate

  Rumors

  Vengeance

  Kierion’s Folly

  Recovery

  Rumble Weed

  Riona’s Trap

  Jael

  Dragon’s Jaws

  Dragon Stunts

  Dragon Race

  Feasting

  Broken

  Spangles

  The Cage

  Torture

  A Crow’s News

  Devil’s Choice

  Weakness

  Mage Fire

  Retaliation

  Dragons’ Hold

  Homeward Bound

  The Rift

  Home

  Shadows

  Prophecy

  Dire News

  Hand-fasting

  Promise

  More Riders of Fire Adventures

  Free Prequel Novelette—Silver Dragon—Riders of Fire

  Acknowledgements

  About Eileen

  Herbal Lore in Dragons’ Realm

  Ezaara

  Map of Dragons’ Realm

  Lush Valley

  The scrape of a blade sliding from its scabbard cut through the hum of the market square. Ezaara dropped her herb basket. Spinning, she drew her sword.

  Tomaaz. Wasn’t it enough that he’d beaten her last time? And the time before? Of course not—today he had an audience. Sensing a fight, people backed toward stalls of plaited-onion wreaths, wood carvings and hats, clearing a ring around Tomaaz and Ezaara. On the far side of the marketplace, painted scarves fluttered in the breeze.

  Tomaaz lunged.

  Ezaara blocked his blow, then feinted. In a flurry of strokes, he drove her backward toward an apple cart. Typical. Quick to attack, he loved to corner his opponents.

  “Take five to one for Tomaaz,” Lofty yelled. The clink of coppers sealed bets. Folk always favored her brother.

  Ezaara whirled as his blade whistled past her face, the whisper of its passage kissing her cheek. That was close, too close. She ducked as he lunged again, then she danced out of reach, saved by her footwork. They fought their way past brightly-patterne
d bolts of cloth. Tomaaz thrust to her right. Dodging, she bumped the table and the bolts went flying.

  “Hey, my cloth,” yelled Old Bill as Ezaara leaped over the bolts and Tomaaz gave chase.

  Ezaara faced her brother. Perhaps she could distract him. “Seen any pretty girls today?” she taunted, thrusting under his guard. “Look, there’s one behind you.”

  His blade answered for him. He was stronger. And faster. She blocked him, arm aching from the impact. Tomaaz’s sword sliced dangerously near. He was so sure he could beat her. Slowing her steps as if she were tiring, Ezaara pretended to stumble, landing on one knee. “Ow!”

  Tomaaz faltered. “Ezaara, are you all right?”

  Driving her sword under his arm, Ezaara tapped his shirt. “I did it!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “I beat you.”

  A chorus of cheers erupted from the onlookers. Lofty called, “Go, Ezaara!”

  A man yelled, “Lucky she’s not a tharuk, Tomaaz, or you’d be dead meat.”

  A chill skittered down Ezaara’s spine. Thankfully there were no tharuks in Lush Valley.

  “Aagh, beaten,” Tomaaz groaned. Sheathing his sword, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

  Ezaara met his green eyes squarely. “You chose to fight me here.”

  Around them, coppers changed hands. Suddenly, Lofty was there. He pulled her close and kissed her, right on the mouth, mooshing his lips against hers. The crowd oohed. Ezaara shoved him away. Old Bill put a pile of grimy coppers into Lofty’s hand. Lofty punched his fist in the air.

  How dare he! Her first kiss—some shrotty smooch, for a bet? Ezaara’s cheeks burned. Half the village had been gawking. She snatched up her basket. Market was only a few days each moon—a nice change from healing people with Ma—but Lofty had just ruined it.

  A bellow rang out. “Is that those twins again?” Klaus strode through the scattering crowd. A head taller than most, and as wide as a draft horse, he was the settlement’s arbitrator.

  Lofty slipped away. The coward.

  “Tomaaz. Ezaara.” Klaus put his hands on his hips.

  Some villagers, pretending to be busy, glanced their way. Others stared outright.

  “It’s my fault.” Tomaaz squared his shoulders. “I challenged her.”

  “In the middle of the marketplace?” Klaus glared. “You could have taken out a littling’s eye.”

  Whoops, she hadn’t thought of littlings. Ezaara held up her sword. “Our tips were corked and the blades aren’t sharpened.”

  Klaus examined Ezaara’s sword with his thumb and finger. “In any case, you shouldn’t have—”

  “She tricked Tomaaz,” Old Bill, the traveling merchant, called, “fighting sneaky, like a dragon rider.”

  As low as a dragon rider? Why was Bill mentioning dragons? Especially in front of Klaus. Was he trying to get her into trouble?

  Klaus spun on Bill. “I only let you trade here if you keep our rules. If I hear you mention those filthy winged killers and their stinking riders again, you’ll be acquainting yourself with our jail.”

  Old Bill glared at Ezaara. She shivered. He gave her the creeps.

  Klaus pointed a blunt finger at Tomaaz. “No fighting in the marketplace.”

  “Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again,” Tomaaz replied.

  Ezaara mumbled her apologies too.

  “They knocked over my cloth,” Old Bill protested.

  “Help Bill to tidy up.” Klaus threw a last glare at them and went back to his leatherwork.

  Old Bill rubbed his hands together. “So, kissed by Lofty, eh?”

  Ezaara wrinkled her nose at his fetid breath. The sooner they were finished, the better.

  Tomaaz stared at Bill in disgust. “I can’t believe you put Lofty up to that. I mean, he’s liked her for ages, and now he’s blown it. There’s no way my sister’s going to like him back now.”

  Ezaara rolled her eyes. “Would you two stop talking about me as if I’m not here?”

  Tomaaz continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Come on, Bill, you should’ve bet Lofty a silver.”

  Men! Ezaara punched his arm. “Come on, let’s get this cleaned up.” She picked up a roll of green cloth and dumped it on Old Bill’s trestle table. “Good morning, Lovina.” Would she answer today?

  No, as usual, Bill’s daughter, Lovina, ignored her, staring at the ground, lank hair covering her face.

  Tomaaz threw most of the bolts on the table, then wandered off.

  Ezaara held the last bolt for a moment, rubbing the sea-blue cloth. She’d been admiring it earlier. She’d never seen the sea, but if it was anything like the rippling pattern of blues flowing across this fabric …. She sighed, placing it on the table. Maybe one day she’d see the real ocean.

  Old Bill leaned over the stand, his gnarled hand plucking at Ezaara’s sleeve like a roach clinging to a table cloth. “You’ll like this.” He opened his jerkin and pulled out a scrap of black cloth covered in vivid patterns. “Look.” It was beautiful.

  She didn’t want anything to do with Old Bill, but she couldn’t resist. Ezaara leaned in, staring. Dragons—the swirls of color were dragons. “That’s forbidden,” she whispered.

  “Go on,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Touch it. I know you want to.” He held the cloth out.

  Someone would see. Ezaara snatched it. Holding it close, she opened her palm and stroked the wing of a golden dragon, then the tail of a bronze. Set against a dark sky dotted with silver pinpoints, the beasts were beautiful. Were dragons really gold, red and bronze? Or was it only the weaver’s imagination?

  “How much for this fabric with the wheat pattern?” A woman’s voice startled Ezaara.

  She crumpled the cloth and thrust it into Bill’s waiting hand.

  Bill tucked the scrap inside his pocket and elbowed his poor daughter, Lovina. She didn’t respond, just kept staring at her feet. “Twenty-five coppers a measure, my lady,” Bill crooned.

  “Twenty-five,” the woman exclaimed. “Why, that’s preposterous! I’d only pay—”

  Ezaara fled past the cobbler’s stand, pushing her way through the crowded marketplace, toward Ana’s stall. Old Bill was dangerous. If Klaus had caught her staring at dragons …. Swinging her basket to distract herself from her thumping heart, she strode past hawkers, bleating goats and littlings playing tag. The delicious scent of melted cheese wafted over her. If she could sell her last two healing remedies, she’d be done. And it was early, so she’d have the afternoon off. She headed toward Ana’s hand-painted scarves. Ana had tried to teach her how to paint scarves, but instead of creating beautiful patterns, Ezaara’s had been ugly and splotched.

  “Morning, Ana,” Ezaara called. “Need any herbs today?” She swallowed. Did Ana know her son had just kissed her?

  Ana smiled, eyes crinkling. “What have you got for me today, Ezaara?”

  So, Ana hadn’t seen, thank the Egg. Ezaara passed a pot of healing salve and a bundle of clean herb across the trestle table. “You’re lucky, these are my last.”

  Ana peered into Ezaara’s basket. Her brow furrowed. “No owl-wort?”

  “No.” Strange question. Ezaara and Ma never usually picked owl-wort unless someone requested it. Most folk didn’t need a herb that helped you see in the dark. Ezaara adjusted her basket on her arm. “It’s still in season. I can bring some by later if you need it.”

  “Good, I’ll expect you.” Ana fumbled with her money pouch.

  Was Ana planning on going out at night? Or was the herb for Lofty? He was always sneaking out with Tomaaz, getting into trouble.

  Coppers clinked as they passed from Ana’s well-worn hands into hers—three coppers. “You’ve given me too much.”

  “That last coin is for the owl-wort,” Ana replied. “I want to make sure you bring it today.”

  So, someone was going out tonight. “I’ll come by later.”

  Ezaara threaded her way through the villagers, past a weapons stand and Klaus’ leather work. Near the cooper’s stall, the clacking o
f sticks came from behind a stack of barrels.

  Busy serving customers, the cooper’s wife rolled her eyes. “Those naughty boys are fighting again,” she grumbled.

  “I’ll check on them,” Ezaara offered. She ducked down the side of the stall.

  Behind the barrels, Paolo and Marco were going at it with sticks. Marco, a littling of only six summers, was blocking his older brother’s strikes, even though Paolo had the stronger arm and longer reach. Then Paolo gave a mighty swing—too hard, too high.

  “Watch out!” Ezaara leaped forward, too late.

  Paolo’s stick smacked Marco’s face. Marco howled and clutched his nose, blood spurting between his fingers. Paolo’s face froze in horror.

  “Go fetch some water, Paolo,” said Ezaara, striding between them. “Quick.”

  As Paolo dashed off, she sat Marco on a small barrel and checked his face. Luckily, his nose wasn’t broken. “Bleeding noses hurt,” she soothed him, “but you’ll live to fight another day. Here, lean forward.”

  His blood dripping onto the ground, Marco was still crying.

  Ezaara leaned in, whispering, “Even though Paolo’s bigger, you almost had him.”

  “I did?” Marco’s tears stopped.

  “Definitely.” She grinned.

  Paolo returned, passing Ezaara a waterskin.

  She pulled a cloth from the leather healer’s pouch at her waist and sloshed water over it. “Now, be brave, like a warrior.” She gently wiped Marco’s face.

  “Sorry,” said Paolo. “We was trying to fight like you and Tomaaz.”

  Ezaara winced. She’d never thought of littlings copying them. “The first lesson Pa taught me was not to hit too hard,” she said. “Remember, you’re training with your brother, not slaying a dragon. You need to keep your sword nice and low, and aim at the body, not the head.”

  Paolo nodded wisely as if she was a great master.

  She scooped some healing salve out of a tiny tub in her pouch and dabbed it on Marco’s nose. “As good as new.”

  “You’re lucky your folks taught you,” Marco piped up, looking a lot better without blood leaking out of his nose. “Ours can’t fight, but we’re going to battle tharuks when we grow up.”